James Acaster’s Classic Scrapes

by James Acaster

  I arrived in Kettering, headed straight to M&S, bought a tie and left. It was only when I got outside that I remembered I’d never tied a tie in my entire life. So, naturally, I went on my phone and Googled ‘How to tie a tie’ and selected the clearest step-by-step diagram to walk me through it. This was all well and good but I wanted to tie the tie in private and not out in the street where everyone could see me struggle. After much consideration, my options appeared to be a) the toilets in the shopping centre or b) the fitting rooms in any number of clothing stores nearby. I decided the toilets were too gross so I went to TK Maxx to use their fitting rooms. Obviously it is impossible to gain access to the fitting rooms without an item of clothing from the store you are currently in so I grabbed a shirt off the rack and walked right into my own private fitting room. I hung the shirt up immediately, got the tie ready, got my phone out and studied the diagram.

  Now, when you’ve never tied a tie before, tying a tie is really hard. It felt exactly like being a little kid learning how to tie my shoelaces and feeling like I was never going to get my head round this abstract concept; how was I ever meant to fathom such a complex technique? With every failed attempt I got more and more stressed out because I knew the lady who allowed me into the fitting rooms would be wondering what the hold-up was. I began to wish I’d brought in more items of clothing to justify being in here for so long. Tying a tie for the first time when you’re twenty-eight is like never watching a single film until you’re twenty-eight and then trying to watch and understand 2001: A Space Odyssey. You’re having to pause and rewind constantly, you have no frame of reference for anything that’s happening in front of you, none of it makes sense on any level. The dishonest fitting room situation made this even worse. Imagine you’ve gone into a cinema that was meant to be showing The Tigger Movie but you’re secretly watching 2001: A Space Odyssey in there while the staff wait for you outside and are wondering why you’ve been in there for three hours when The Tigger Movie only lasts one hour and twenty minutes.

  After multiple failed attempts to tie the tie, each attempt more frantic and infuriating than the last, I composed myself and tried again, taking my time, focusing on each step, trusting the diagram and, somehow, I got it right. I emerged from the fitting room carrying the shirt and, curiously, wearing a tie that I wasn’t wearing before entering the fitting room. The lady seemed to notice this but also seemed to acknowledge that the tie was not from TK Maxx and so didn’t bring it up. I don’t know if this had ever happened to her before. Do people regularly go into the TK Maxx fitting rooms and emerge wearing brand new clothing from another store instead of the outfit they went in to try? Maybe TK Maxx employees have accepted by now that their fitting rooms are more popular than their actual clothes and have decided to allow customers from other stores to make use of their first class facilities regardless of the fact they haven’t sold a shirt in months. Maybe it had never happened before but she just decided she couldn’t do with the inevitable hassle of getting to the bottom of this particular mystery. She would’ve had to interrogate me for ages and at the end would just have learnt the one thing she knew all along – that I was a very odd man.

  ‘Were you happy with the shirt, sir?’

  ‘No, it’s not for me I don’t think,’ I said, pretty convincingly I might add.

  ‘Oh? What exactly were you looking for?’ She beckoned a colleague over who joined her and they both looked at me intently, keen to hear what sort of a shirt I was looking to buy that day, which of course I wasn’t because I only wanted to use the fitting rooms so I could teach myself how to tie a tie in private away from the prying eyes of the general public.

  ‘Blue . . . plain blue . . . nothing too tight . . .’ I kept adding adjectives hoping they’d leave me alone but each one just got me in more and more trouble until I eventually ended up buying a plain blue baggy shirt with a medium sized collar and small buttons for a reasonable price, not too shiny.

  It’s worth pointing out that in order to buy a shirt I had to try on a shirt, which meant I had to take off the shirt and tie I currently had on. I very nearly completely untied the tie in order to do this before remembering how to loosen it. If I had untied it and had to re-tie it again afterwards then this story may well have gone on forever. I wouldn’t have been able to re-tie the tie in TK Maxx because that would’ve taken ages and I needed to get out of there ASAP, so I would’ve ended up buying the TK Maxx shirt then running over to H&M to use their fitting room to re-tie the tie, and I’d have to take a shirt in with me, and I’d once again take ages to tie the tie, then inevitably get roped into buying another shirt, which means I’d have to try it on, which means I’d have to untie the tie again, so I’d have to leave H&M and quickly nip into Next to use their fitting rooms instead, and on and on and so on and so forth. By the end of it I would’ve arrived at that wedding wearing twenty shirts and no tie. Sometimes it’s good to remind myself that things could’ve gone a lot worse; it makes me feel much better about buying a shirt I didn’t need.

  Pindrop

  After the tour of Holland I spent all my time at secondary school trying to get people to form bands with me but to no avail (it’s hard to be taken seriously when you were the ‘La La La Humpty’ kid. And also Eco Man.) When I was fifteen I finally formed my first band, a nu metal outfit by the name of Pindrop. Nu metal is a genre that usually mixes metal with hip hop resulting in something that doesn’t sound as good as metal or hip hop. A lot of nu metal bands had the kind of name where you put two one-syllable words together to form a new word and ‘Pindrop’ was an absolute classic. You can do it with anything though: Gnomelord, Yakblood, Yaklord, Gnomeblood, Gnomeyak, Gnomedrop, Pinyak – the possibilities are endless.

  There were four of us in the band – drums, two guitarists and a bass player – but none of us sang. There was no way in hell I was going to put myself forward to do vocal duty, no way no how. I don’t think I need to explain why to you either – if I wasn’t totally freezing up during the school play, I was belting out a nursery rhyme and becoming a slave to my own success. Nope, I’d learnt my lesson. But we were always looking for a singer and in our one year of playing gigs we went through several, the most noteworthy of which was Lloyd.

  Lloyd was the perfect nu metal singer. He looked real cool (lip piercing, hair gelled into big spikes, symmetrical face) and could actually sing. There were a few different types of nu metal singer: rapper ones, nice sing-y ones, screamy ones, and any combination of the three. We wanted a nice sing-y one and Lloyd was just that. We had some top-notch band practices and he sounded spot on.

  Our first gig with Lloyd was in a youth centre, in the back room where boxing classes usually took place, which meant the stage was a boxing ring. You’re right, that is the coolest thing you’ve ever heard. (What’s even cooler is the fact that this ended up being the final gig held in the boxing ring because shortly afterwards the youth centre received a health and safety inspection and were told by the fire safety guy that the room we’d been having gigs in was officially ‘a bloody death trap’.) We were the second band on that night, and although Lloyd seemed nervous we had full faith in him.

  As I was setting up my drum kit he said to me, ‘You guys start playing the first song without me and I’ll come on later. Just keep playing that opening riff until I get onstage, OK?’ We hadn’t practised opening our set like this but it sounded like a nifty idea so we all agreed to give it a go. Obviously I was familiar with the technique Lloyd was suggesting: start off with a repetitive, almost boring refrain and then bring in the lead vocalist and completely change everything, resulting in pandemonium – sound familiar?2

  And so at the start of our gig, the four of us began playing the opening riff to the first song. Then we repeated that riff, really building up the tension in the room, getting the crowd on tenterhooks. Then we repeated it again. At this point we were visibly looking around, trying to locate Lloyd, but he was nowhere to be seen. If he’d run away we had no backup plan
. The riff was starting to wear thin now. The crowd were being nice, nodding their heads in time with the beat, but it was clear that they were patiently waiting for us to play something that wasn’t this riff.

  But just when I started to believe he had definitely deserted us, Lloyd entered the ring. He had gone and got changed into a floral dress, something we weren’t aware he was going to do but that seemed kind of nifty; we were a nu metal band and we had a cool looking singer wearing a dress usually worn by elderly women – fuck the system. He picked up the mic, the crowd moving about a bit more now – this guy had stage presence, no question about it. He lifted the mic to his lips and we prepared ourselves for those sweet melodic vocals.

  And then he shouted into the mic for half an hour.

  From start to finish, just shouting. Not even in the same rhythm as the vocals he’d done in band practice, and not good shouting either, just unpleasant shouting like an old man with no teeth yelling at you for parking your car in front of his house.

  After the gig ended, we were standing outside while our lead guitarist was smoking.

  ‘That was fun,’ said Lloyd. We shuffled around, looking at our feet.

  ‘Yeah . . .’ we all mumbled, unconvincingly.

  ‘Those vocals were different, Lloyd,’ I said.

  ‘Did you like them?’ he asked, and our guitarist, a boy by the name of Butler, fifteen years old but with a better beard than I can now grow at thirty-two, answered, ‘Not really. Do the proper singing next like you did in practice, mate,’ and the rest of us nodded while still avoiding eye contact. A look of understanding swept over Lloyd’s face and he responded in a surprisingly mature manner.

  ‘Of course, yeah you’re right, sorry guys, I don’t know why I surprised you like that, I’ll do proper singing next time, won’t happen again.’ Cool.

  Our second gig was in a traditional English pub. Lloyd showed up, this time not wearing his dress, but once again appeared nervous. We’d had some good practices in between gigs, with Lloyd singing very sweetly, and we were looking forward to gig number two. Before we went on, Lloyd came up to me.

  ‘Hey, you guys start the first song without me and I’ll come on later, OK?’

  I paused and looked at him uncertainly. He instantly read my mind.

  ‘I won’t shout again I promise, man,’ he said. ‘Look I’m really sorry about what happened last time, I shouldn’t have tried something new without asking you guys and you’re totally right it sounds better when I sing nicely. Honestly, it won’t happen again, I don’t know what got into me, to be honest.’

  I nodded, the kind of nod you do when you’re trying to convince yourself that everything is fine by forcing your brain to move your head in a way that you’ve come to associate with everything being fine. ‘OK, all good.’

  Lloyd smiled. ‘Great.’

  Pindrop took to the stage, we played the intro for a while, then a while longer, and then Lloyd ran onstage wearing his floral dress. OK, I thought to myself, the dress is fine, we didn’t say don’t wear the dress anymore, we actually like the dress, it’s just that at the last gig the dress was the first of two surprises and the second one was very much unwanted. But just because he’s wearing the dress does not mean he’s about to shout – the dress could just be his stage outfit; we don’t know because we’ve never discussed it as a band because we’re all fifteen and haven’t learned tactful ways of bringing these kind of things up yet but just because he’s wearing the dress doesn’t mean he’s about to do shouting again.

  And then he did shouting again. For the entire set, jumping around the stage, leaping as high as he could in the air and every time he landed he’d stick his middle finger up at the audience. Every time. Just shouting and flipping people off for a full thirty minutes then throwing the mic on the ground and running off stage again.

  Once again we found ourselves standing outside after the gig, this time all looking at Lloyd with anger in our eyes.

  ‘I know,’ said Lloyd, holding his hands up, ‘I’m sorry, I know that wasn’t the plan, it just felt right at the time but I see now it wasn’t the right thing to do.’

  Butler looked like he was about to punch him. ‘Just . . . don’t do it again, Lloyd.’

  ‘I won’t. You have my word. I will never ever do it again.’

  *

  Our third gig was in a community centre on the outskirts of town. We’d had some nice practices with Lloyd in between the second and third gig, with him singing very sweetly indeed but with us eyeing him with suspicion every time. Every practice would end with us saying to him, ‘And that’s how you’re going to sing at the next gig, isn’t it?’ and he’d reassure us.

  ‘Absolutely, I promise, I can’t apologise enough for last time.’

  Now it was gig night and we were all on edge, more so than ever before. Lloyd, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. As we were setting up, Lloyd came up to me.

  ‘Hey, you guys start the first song without me and I’ll come on later, yeah?’

  I looked at him for a long time, without speaking. ‘And then what are you going to do?’

  He looked back at me like he literally had no idea what I was talking about. ‘I’ll just come on and sing, properly.’

  Another pause. ‘Will you?’

  Lloyd looked at me with a face like butter wouldn’t melt. ‘Yeah man, just like we practised.’

  I went back to setting up my drums but turned back to face Lloyd after less than a second. ‘Because at the last two gigs you’ve told us to start without you and then you’ve run on and done shouting.’

  He nodded disapprovingly as if we were both on the same team and were bollocking somebody else. ‘Those days are behind me now, I’m going to sing tonight, I am.’

  I looked at him with urgency in my eyes. ‘You’re definitely going to sing?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  We looked at each other for quite some time. ‘OK, fine.’

  And so we started playing the intro to the first song. And we carried on playing the intro to the first song. Lloyd was nowhere to be seen. This was the longest we’d ever played the intro for. Where was he? After a full five minutes of playing the same riff over and over, we saw him. Bounding towards the stage in another floral dress. With a dick drawn across his forehead in eyeliner pencil. Just a full dick and balls drawn across his forehead. I had so much hope in my heart that he had decided to trade the shouting for the dick. Like maybe singing nicely with a dick drawn on your forehead is akin to simply shouting for the whole set? But another part of me, quite a big part of me, saw the dick as a bad sign. People who draw dicks on their foreheads are rarely on their best behaviour. As he got closer my faith waned more and more. He reached the stage, picked up the mic and sang incredibly beautifully for the first time ever.

  Only joking. He screamed for thirty minutes. Screaming is way worse than shouting, by the way. At one point he took the dress off completely (he was wearing boxers), revealing that he’d also written ‘SUZEE WOZ ERE’ across his stomach with an arrow pointing down to his penis (his actual penis, not the one drawn across his forehead.) Who was Suzee? Suzee was a friend of his; she was in the audience and was the only person enjoying the set. I’m fairly certain she’s the one who drew all that stuff on him in the first place. He didn’t even try and sing and then resort to screaming; he just launched straight into it like it was plan A (which it clearly was) and we just had to keep on playing the songs. At the end of every song he would raise his arms in the air like a boxer who’s just won a fight, but to zero applause. He was ‘Ian Beale-ing’ pretty badly, as we say in the industry. He had to go.

  We fired him eventually but it took weeks because there was never a good time. We wanted to do it straight after the gig but couldn’t because Lloyd got headbutted (by some troublemakers for no reason. Nothing to do with his performance) and it felt cruel to fire him while his nose was bleeding. The person who headbutted him ran away immediately, which I was disappointed about. E
ver since, I’ve desperately wanted to know if the headbutter ended up with a faded dick printed backwards across his forehead.

  Jam

  Around the same time I was in Pindrop, I would regularly attend a jam night in Kettering. It took place every Tuesday and for a young musician like me it was everything I needed: a place to meet other musicians, some of them new, some of them more experienced (old, I’m trying to say old), and learn how to play with other people, how to listen to other players and develop my skills as a drummer. Most of the people who went there were in their forties and fifties, with only a handful of youngsters like me attending each week. I’d often be able to get up and play one or two songs, try and show off as much as I could, and then sit down. The jam night switched venues quite a lot in those days but on this particular night it was being held at The Poppies Social Club, a small bar just off the side of the Kettering football ground. I turned up to find that there were no youngsters present that day. This meant it would take me longer to get on because usually I’d just get up with a bunch of people my age as we were all at a similar level in terms of ability. I sat and watched as musicians rotated, playing a lot of blues and rock, until I got called on to fill in on the drums for a song. Sitting down behind the drums at the jam night was always a slightly nerve-wracking experience. I had no idea what they were about to play and I was keen to impress the older guys by playing a beat they perhaps didn’t expect. I really felt like I had to prove myself. The guitarist started playing the opening riff to what I now know was ‘All Along The Watchtower’, the Jimi Hendrix version.